It's Not Over!
by EnglishFangasms
Summary: It wasn't supposed to have been like this. The whole "Mayan-Calendar-Nostradamus-2012" thing was supposed to be fake, like all of the other apocalypse scares in the past! So what made this one any different? The reason for this doom was quite simple, really. Hysteria. Human names used, death, sadness, USUK Bromance. No homo. No seriously... it's just them being dying bros together.


Apocalypse (Happy 12/21/12!)

**AN: First of all hey, guys, it's been a while, huh? Alright so this isn't a romantic fanfic so if that's what you want, well, then you're S.O.L. It's just a bromance. No literally, 'cause America and England are brothers. That's it. (oooh, anti-usuk here.) So yeah.**

**ALSO: This isn't historically accurate. At all. I BSed basically all of the history/war/bunker stuff. But, really, if you wanted a history lesson, you kinda came to the wrong site, pal. **

**Well, that's all from me! Please enjoy my contribution to the Apocalypse Hype!**

America clutched the limp head of his brother, his soft, restrained sobs echoing through the grim, Cold War era bunker. Green eyes watched him, assessing his distraught state. A soft, throbbing pain pain coursed through England, whether from the devastation of doomsday or the loss of his friends.

"C-canada...I'm sorry..." Another sob broke him from his stillness and he stood abruptly before stalking to the ladder that led to the door and glancing back at the slumped forms. "I'll go see if anyone's out there." He said softly before exiting.

America showed no sign of noticing. He merely kept his position of guarding his twin's now lifeless body quietly.

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. The whole "Mayan-Calendar-Nostradamus-2012" thing was supposed to be fake, like all of the other apocalypse scares in the past! So what made this one any different? The reason for this doom was quite simple, really.

Hysteria.

It was amazing how fast nuclear war could be instigated these days. An assassination here, an angered super power there, and suddenly the whole planet was up in flames.

And that was exactly how it had happened.

A suicide bomber destroyed one third of the Chinese government, his attack on their ill-fated meeting successful. Rumor had it he was French. France denied it, said he in no way meant for an attack on his ally, but it was too late. The card of fate had been dealt, and with it a nuclear war head.

The whole European continent down for the count.

Permanently.

Within minutes of the attack America, who had just been watching the news with England during the European's annual visit, found out.

Within hours the two, along with closer allies and the help of the Israeli Embassy and their nuclear armory, had taken revenge for their fallen comrade.

This meant war.

It had been eight hours since the initial explosion and now half of the world was gone, the Earth scorched and marred, the people almost completely wiped out, barely any traces of life remained.

All save for a few extant countries, their powers stripped, their lives fading fast with the deaths of their people.

Canada may have been the second largest nation, but his size only served as a beacon for doom.

America clutched him brokenly, his tears dripping onto broken glass lenses.

No, it was never meant to end this way.

The sound of the bunker door opening startled the nation as he glanced up to see silhouettes clumping together through the orange evening light. He squinted at the shapes as they came into focus, and soon they were people. A reassuring voice called out to him, following it's master as he climbed down.

England walked towards him, his boots clunking against the cold stone floor. Behind him followed three others.

He could barely make out who they were in the dim light, until his eyes found purchase on familiar features, making him frown.

"What are _they_ doing here?"

Japan's voice was quiet when he answered, a bitter, painful sound underlying its usually stoic tone.

"There was a convention this week, so I brought Italy and Germany to come with me for it." He wouldn't meet America's eyes as he spoke. No, of course not, why should he? His brother had been killed by the blonde nation, so it was only natural that he was beyond angry. But as he saw it at the moment, anger meant nothing at this point. With that in mind, he fought the red that was tinting his vision. No, America had lost people as well.

They all had.

England observed the trio before them, taking note of possible injuries, judging how much time they had left. They were all smaller countries, less people left, they were more affected than a lot of others because of their locations. He could tell by their appearances that their time was soon, Germany and Japan's grim expressions, Italy's persistent shaking as he clutched his friend's back tightly. The poor lad couldn't even cry anymore.

Not much time left.

His eyes then shifted to America. The other was assessing them as well, but in a more panicked way, as if he were an escaped convict and they the wardens. The boy was a young country, younger than all of them at least. The worst he had seen was WWII, so this was sure to be terrifying for him. England sighed. As much as he would've denied the day before, America was his dear little brother and needed to be shielded.

"America," His voice rang eerily against the metallic walls. "why don't you go see if there are any survivors while I take care of these three."  
America hesitated, his grip on the carcass in his arms tightening.  
"You can bury Matthew as well." There was an almost undetectable pause hitch in the former empire's voice as he said Canada's human name. The sound of his brother's name brought thought back to America's brain, logic to his chaos. He nodded, his breathe even and sobs silenced.

He needed to be strong for both of his brothers.

The dull thud of the closing door was nearly lost to the wind as America climbed up a soft dune. He looked around the desert that encompassed him. This was his own personal hiding spot, a lost wasteland somewhere in California. It was usually reserved for when he needed time alone, but this was more important. His blue eyes met the sky, tinted with orange from the dusky blanket above. It was probably somewhere around 7 PM. Normally the desert air would be cooling, but the climate had shifted with the day-long war and the heat was as stifling as it would have been hours before. He held Canada close, protecting his limp body from sharp blasts of sandy air. There wouldn't be survivors around, he could feel it. Yet, he knew deep withing his being that people were alive, somewhere.

His steps left a trail, but it was quickly swept away. It didn't matter, he wouldn't get lost. He knew where to go.

England closed the now empty vault softly. How long had it been since America had left?  
Thirty minutes?  
An hour?  
Long enough for the other three to finally fade away. Not literally of course, the three graves half a mile away indicated that clearly. He had seen a lot of people die, a lot of empires fall, but this was somehow more personal.  
He shook his head, trying to clear his brain of the way Italy's trembling became tremendous as he held tight onto Germany then so suddenly ceased, of how the stronger nation tried to hide his hair in his fallen friend's hair before he grew silent, and especially how Japan, his closest friend, had smiled at him _one last time_.

The blonde brought his hands to cover his eyes, wishing this all away. He sniffed then wiped them brusquely. This was no time for tears.  
He could feel the throbbing pain grow steadily through his body, making his knees weak and his breath strained.  
Twenty minutes. Tops.

There was the sound of the door closing and America climbed down the ladder. "And then there were two, huh?" He called, his voice more confident now. His eyes met England's and he wore a sad smile. Yeah, it wouldn't be long until the younger would be alone. He sat next to his former guardian sighing nostalgically.  
"Hey, Iggy, remember in '99 when we thought we were gonna die?"  
"That was you and Japan, dolt." The other snorted, a small smiling growing in light of the memory.  
"Yeah, well, I heard about you'n France back in 1000."  
"Ugh, son't remind me."

For a few moments, the room was filled with soft laughter as the two reminisced. It slowly died out and England winced, glancing at his watch. The pain was almost unbearable.  
Only a few minutes now.

He stood, carefully hiding a groan, and began walking to the exit.  
"England?" He turned slowly, faking a smile. He saw a knowing look in America's eyes. He was daft, not stupid. England lied, nonetheless, just to ease his own buzzing nervousness.  
"I'm just going out for some fresh air."  
America smiled back, feigning naivety.  
"See ya later, Arthur!"  
"No you won't." The man in question scoffed bluntly.  
"Yeah I will!" Came the chipper reply as America's grin widened. It was an infections thing and England found himself smiling as he began to climb the ladder one last time. He stopped halfway through, though, the smile fading.

"Hey Alfred? What will you do?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"When you're the only one left."

The boy's smile remained, blue eyes hopeful, confident, behind wire-framed glasses.  
"I have to stay alive for my people. There're still people alive. So I'll survive, then I'll be the hero again and save the world! I'll bring everyone back, I swear!"

England smiled and gave him one last nod, earning a cheery wave before climbing the rest of the way up the ladder and closing the door behind him.

"Bye, Al."


End file.
